


Lay you're weary head to rest

by MollyTheFangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death, Feels, Hurt, Supernatural - Freeform, Winchester - Freeform, cas, castiel - Freeform, deanmon, sammy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:18:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2689178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyTheFangirl/pseuds/MollyTheFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has had enough, everyone around him slowly dies. He wants peace when he's done. So when he has the chance, with his brother dying and his angel....<br/>He's takes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean smiled at his brother. The smile was broken, watery, empty. It was his final gesture, his last chance at making peace. Sam was coughing, gasping breaths the only thing he could manage at this point. Dean leaned down, cupping Sam’s face in his hand, pressing their foreheads together. Blood was flecked onto Dean’s throat, his smile slipping, shimmering away until all that was left was parted lips, soft, silent tears melting into Sam’s clothing. Dean moved his forehead away, silently grabbing his brother’s face between his hands and forcing his eyes open. It wasn’t time. Not yet. Dean knew they still had time. He didn’t flinch, didn’t at the soft moan that came from behind himself and his only blood family left. Dean’s lips moved silently, wet from blood and tears, hand trying to hold Sam up, but he could feel himself sinking, slowly fading out. When a hand touched his back, Dean found himself collapsing on top of Sam as if all of his energy was drained. A broken sob escaped his throat. Sam’s hand moved to Dean’s back, breathing still labored, but slowly dissipating, leaving nothing but a quiet rasping. Someone was carefully moving Dean from Sam’s lap to the wall beside him. Dean hadn’t realized his eyes were clenched shut.

“Open them,” a voice rasped, sounding like gravel and nails had been shoved down the man’s throat. When Dean did, he heard a choking noise. Castiel’s face was in front of his, bloody and scratched. Castiel had a grin on his face. His eyes were half-lidded, but bright, his entire face radiating happiness. That ended when his eyes moved down, looking at his hands, which moved to clutch at his middle, where something was impaled. The top of a silvery blade was protruding. Castiel found himself clumsily falling forwards, Dean reaching out uselessly, Sam completely immobile, eyes wide as he stared into nothingness.

“Are- my eyes- are they-?” Dean gasped, voice thick and choked. On his knees, Castiel looked up at Dean. He managed a small, grateful smile and a slow nod. Dean closed them again against the onslaught of tears. A deep, shuddering breath slipped through his teeth, cut off by an abrupt hitch of breath. One hand on Sam and the other leaving his crushed ribs, Dean leaned forwards, taking Castiel’s hand in his own. Castiel, pain written clearly across his face, accepted the hand, his other wrapped around his middle. They looked at each other for a long while.

“It- worked,” Castiel breathed at last. There was a stream of tears leaving his eyes. “My- Dean. I mi- I missed them, you. So. So much.” Dean sunk his head down, body trembling. He remembered everything. Leaving Sam and Castiel, taking the blade and killing countless innocents. Turning into exactly what Crowley had imagined.

“So sorry,” Dean sobbed, voice hysterical as his chest rose and fell with crushing pain, loud, gasping breaths painted across his tongue. Castiel squeezed his hand.

“It- it’s okay. Forgave- long ago.” Dean crumbled. His hand fell off of Sam as he put it over his eyes, wiping viciously at the tears, feeling a sticky warmth as well. Castiel knew. Castiel knew he had done horrendous, awful things. He had killed so many. He had left Sam alone. But Castiel had forgiven him. Castiel understood what it was like. Castiel chose not to spend his final moments in resentment, but in trying to make the man he loved understand that he was forgiven.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean gasped. Castiel crawled forwards, placing his hand on Dean’s leg. Dean pulled Castiel close, a cry of pain being emitted when Castiel moved his torso, the blade shifting. Before Dean could apologize again, Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean, forcing him into some kind of embrace. Dean put one hand on Castiel and the other on Sam, who looked at his brother upon the touch.

“Green,” Sam said, voice barely audible, a smile playing on his lips as he looked at his brother, his world. His eyes showed not only the pain he was in, but the joy he felt that Dean was back, Dean was human. Sam was dying. Castiel was dying. Dean was dying. But they were dying human. All of them. Dean’s hand was grasped in Sam’s. Sam’s eyes slowly grew blank, the smile still playing on his lips. He quietly fell forwards, a long, low, final breath sliding through his teeth, his forehead gently resting on Dean’s shoulder, his hand no longer squeezing Dean’s fingers.

“Sammy?” Dean choked out, releasing his brother’s hand and moving it to his head, pushing back his hair, trying desperately to clear the blood from his nose, to get him to wake up. He was gone. Dean knew he was gone, and he knew he wasn’t coming back. Dean knew it was his own fault. Dean knew everything leading up to this moment was his fault. Dean accepted his fate. Carefully, trying not to hurt Castiel anymore than he already had, Dean leaned his head forwards, gently pressing his lips to Sam’s forehead, holding them there for longer than he needed to, moving back with a shuddering gasp. More tears streamed down his dirt and blood soaked face, leaving fresh tracks in place of the others. He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall behind him.

“Sam?” Castiel gasped. Silent sobs racked through Dean. He shook his head.

“He’s gone,” Dean whispered, opening his eyes to find Castiel looking at him, still with a smile. “You- you’re smiling. Wh- why?”

“Sam. Wanted this. You. No, no matter what. Just… you,” Castiel breathed. Dean hung his head, taking Castiel’s hands in his own once more. “I’ll see you… soon.”

“Cas?” His eyes were glassy, lifelessly staring at Dean, his broken body spread across Dean, the silver tip of the blade protruding from his abdomen the constant reminder to Dean of what he had done. Dean couldn’t look away. He gently stroked the hair from Castiel’s face, slowly caressing his face. He looked at his arm. The Mark was gone. The blade was gone. Sam was gone. Castiel was gone. Yet here Dean remained. Battered and broken as he was, Dean could live through this. Dean could pull himself up and drag himself to the hospital. Dean could beg with the angels to return his family. Dean could live his life.

Dean didn’t want any of that.

He wanted his punishment. He wanted his suffering for all eternity for what had happened. With a breathless gasp, Dean carefully moved Castiel from his lap and disentangled himself from his brother and his angel. He tried to stand, but it was too much, his ribs screaming beneath him, Dean collapsing in a heap, managing to land near the dead angel Hannah. She had a blade in her hand, her vessel’s eyes as lifeless as Sam or Castiel’s. Her blade was clean. Dean closed his fingers around the cold metal of the weapon, pulling it towards himself and moving so his blood slicked fingers could grasp the hilt of it. Dean moved onto his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands shaking as he poised the blade above his abdomen.

With a cry, Dean plunged the angel blade deep into his chest. His eyes grew wide, his mouth an ‘O’ of pain, his lips parting to release one final, slow breath. Dean’s hands fell from the blade, landing beside his body. His vision faded, leaving nothing but a blissful black.


	2. Don't you cry no more....

Sam inhaled the crisp air sharply, back resting against the cool glass of the Impala, eyes wide and staring at the stars. His legs were crossed across the hood, hands resting behind his head. Sam’s head turned slowly when he heard the gravel crunching behind him.

“Sammy?” The voice was hoarse and full of emotion. The voice was strained, the voice was rough; the voice was Dean. Sam slid his legs from the vehicle, moving off to move towards his brother, who stumbled forwards to grasp Sam in an embrace. Dean was shaking as his fists gripped handfuls of material on Sam’s jacket, pulling his brother close, inhaling his scent, feeling his heartbeat.

“Hey,” was all Sam said, a smile playing on his lips. Dean pulled back, refusing to let go of his brother’s shoulders.

“How?” Dean managed. “How are we alive?” Sam’s smile never faltered, but it changed. It was no longer gladness in seeing his brother, but apologetic and sad.

“We aren’t,” Sam whispered. Dean’s face fell. His whole being seemed to slump. Sam grasped his arm as Dean began to fall forwards.

“How am I here?” Dean sobbed. “The things I did-”

“No, Dean, no. It wasn’t you.”

“But it was!”

“Dean, it wasn’t,” Sam insisted softly. “The angels know that. They know you tried.”

“I shouldn’t be here. I don’t deserve this, don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve peace.”

“No, I don’t.” Tears were sliding down Dean’s face once more. “I don’t deserve anything but pain.” Sam placed a hand on Dean’s face, looking down at his brother with a strange kind of expression. It almost seemed to be pity, but some form of understanding was also present.

“I don’t care what you think, Dean. You deserve all of this.” Sam pulled Dean into another embrace, gripping him close, Dean squeezing Sam like he expected him to disappear. Sam led his brother to the hood of the Impala.

“This is your heaven?” Dean asked quietly. Sam nodded as they stared at the stars, a gentle breeze playing across their skin, the warm night air quiet and peaceful. “Why?” Sam looked at his brother when he said that one word. It contained so much more than a question. Dean didn’t understand why a memory that involved himself would be happy, and Sam wondered if, even in death, his brother could ever forgive himself.

“It’s my heaven because you’re here,” Sam said softly. Dean shook his head.

“Mom, Jess, anyone; why me?” Dean asked.

“I never knew mom,” Sam said quietly. “And while I loved Jess, I loved her so much, I’ve let her go, Dean. It’s been a long time since I thought of heaven with her. The only people who have truly been there all this time are you and Cas and Bobby. Especially you, Dean. You’re my brother. You’re here because I love you.” Dean was quiet, contemplating what Sam was telling him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, not looking at the other man. Sam placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing it. They both looked up to the stars, picking out small constellations as they did, Dean cracking a smile at a long lost memory Sam mentioned. He had no idea how long they sat on the hood of Dean’s baby, but he knew that he never wanted it to end.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“I just want you to know that I forgive you.” A lump rose in Dean’s throat and he nodded, not trusting his voice. The crickets were overwhelmingly loud in the silence. Dean looked around them. “What is it?”

“I… Is Cas…?”

“I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him,” Sam replied, voice distant.

“Okay.”

“We’ll find him, I promise you.”

………..

The stars were gone. Instead, there was a large, familiar house that Dean had sworn had burned down. Sam led them up to the front porch, not bothering to knock when they opened the door. The room was not familiar, but a dull blue, seeming to expand for a very long time. Dean barely noticed. What was before him could really only be described as heaven.

His mother, flickering from that familiar face that tucked him in to the beautiful woman she had been before Dean was born. She had a warm smile on her face, but her hand was empty, missing his father. Her eyes were happy, looking proudly at her sons.

Bobby stood beside her, nodding towards the boys. Dean could practically hear him thinking ‘idjits’ as Dean stood, staring dumbly at the old man. He still had that godforsaken hat on, something Dean had never been happier to see.

Dean was shocked to see Kevin. How long had he been here? The kid was looking at him with contempt rather than the anger Dean was expecting. He had a grin on his face at seeing the man, something Dean never expected.

Ellen, Jo and Ash. Always together. Ash, of course, gave him the rock on sign while Jo flipped him the bird. Ellen was smiling warmly, Dean surprised not to see a cold stare on her face. How was she not livid? She seemed to be telling him to forgive himself with just her eyes, though Dean was having trouble making contact.

Dean was surprised when he turned back to see Sam beside his mother, arm around her shoulder, a soft smile playing on his face. Sam was looking beside Dean’s body, and Dean followed the gaze, finding his hand being gripped in that of another. He lifted his head to see Castiel staring back at him, the smile that graced his face peaceful and calm. Familiar. Home. Castiel squeezed his hand, blue eyes seeping into Dean’s green. Dean never wanted to look away. He finally felt as if he was being allowed to breathe in this place. When Dean looked back at his family, he saw that they had grown significantly, so many people staring back at him now.

Henrikson, Jessica, Deanna, Henry, Chuck, Frank, and countless others were standing in a group behind Dean’s family, all smiling contentedly, all looking happy, all looking well. Dean looked back to Castiel, whose smile had grown into a grin.

“Welcome to your heaven, Dean,” the angel said, pulling Dean closer.

Dean was grinning at this point, fingers still laced in Castiel’s. He turned his to look at his family once more.

They were gone.

Dean looked back at Castiel in confusion.

His hand was empty.

Dean took a step forwards, but it was no use; he was trapped in place. He now felt the burning. The hellfire, licking at his ankles, the chains digging into his shoulders. Dean released a shuddering breath, closing his eyes against the horror before him, trying to reopen that flooding gate of happiness. He knew it was impossible. He knew it was a trick of the mind. He knew it was likely Crowley, playing a trick on him. Dean felt something slicing into his abdomen, but refused to react.

He had known his heaven was too good to be true.

After all, the only place that Dean truly belonged was here, in hell, being tortured for all eternity. After what he had done, he deserved no peace. All Dean wanted was to suffer.

And so he did.


End file.
